


A Light From The Shadows Shall Spring

by Lilylovesbones



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comedy, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Gandalf Is a Little Shit, Homecoming, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining Thorin, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Psychological Trauma, Romance, alive!Fili, alive!Kili, alive!Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilylovesbones/pseuds/Lilylovesbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t recall the exact words as his mind had already been taken over by the darkness of Dragon’s disease, but knowing himself quite well, he knew they must’ve been terribly harsh. Cutting and hurting enough to push the Burglar to leave shortly after the bloody battle.</p><p>or Thorin Oakenshield realises he fucked up big time and embarks on another adventure to try and fix the mess he made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light From The Shadows Shall Spring

It took time, to heal entirely. 

The wounds were deep, and took long to scar enough to convince his loving, yet angry, sister to finally let him up from his sick bed.

Thorin couldn’t fault Dis for caring so fiercely about her family: her boys and himself were the only things she had left after years of pain and tragedy had befallen the Durin line. At least he was not being guarded as much as his dear nephews were.

Still, it is months before he’s allowed back to his duties, and the time that should’ve been spent planning the reconstruction of the Mountain, and the drafting of new treaties with Dale, was spent on thinking instead.

Thinking about how he could’ve died alongside his kin, nearly dooming his people to Mahal’s knows how long of wandering through the lands of Middle Earth.

Thinking about how foolish he had been to succumb so easily to the sickness that had taken his grandfather before him. How blind he had been. How he had almost lost everything because of what he could now understand was barely a rock.

But he had indeed lost something. Or, worse yet, someone. 

He couldn’t recall the exact words as his mind had already been taken over by the darkness of Dragon’s disease, but knowing himself quite well, he knew they must’ve been terribly harsh. Cutting and hurting enough to push the Burglar to leave shortly after the bloody battle.

Months had passed since his departure, and his several attempts to plan a journey to the Shire were repeatedly shot down by the allied forces of his royal sister and the wisely precautious Oin: after all, Erebor was still in need of a king.

But now, his skin marked by white scars all over, and his mind made up, the newly reinstated King under the Mountain had relinquished temporary control to his recovering nephew to attempt reconciliation with Master Baggins. Fili had taken quite well to his role, praise flooding the king about his kin’s ability to maintain stable relationship with men and elves alike. 

Thorin was certain that, when the time arose, Fili would make a better king than any of his ancestors thanks to his calm and restraint of spirit. The love and support of the lovely Lady of Dale only seemed to increase the abilities the young dwarf already possessed, and the King looked forward to saw both their brains come up with new plans to return both their kingdoms to greatness.

 

The journey had been exhausting, and once again Thorin begrudgingly thanked Lord Elrond for his hospitality after a long stretch of riding.

The elf had requested for the King to take as much time as possible to recover his strength, but as stubborn as always, he had refused in order to take to the path once more: the longer he rode, the shorter it would take him to reunite with the hobbit he so dearly missed.

It took several attempts to locate Bag End before the dwarf turned to the map Gandalf had secretively hidden into his satchel, but in the end the green door of the hobbit hole appeared in front of him.

He stood by it for what felt like hours, and had just raised his big hand to knock when it suddenly opened to revealed a smoking Bilblo Baggins wearing his usual pair of maroon trousers, a plain white shirt, and mustard-yellow suspenders.

His feet were bare, as per Hobbit tradition, and his hair was longer than the last time he had seen him before the Battle. His eyes, once a vibrant stormy-blue, appeared dull and his eyelid heavier; a frown took over his face once he saw the dwarf king, but it was soon replaced by a grin and his eyes were taken over by a semblance of myrth.

“Oh well, it has been a while,” the hobbit said before giving the back to his guest and marching back towards the living room of his well-furnished hole: “Come on! I just made some tea I think you will like. Nothing like the dirt Bofur used to give us.”

That had been…better than he had expected. Considering his ill-treatment of the hobbit during their last meeting, Thorin had expected, if not anger, at least some grudge against himself. He sure knew he would have wanted some apologies and grovel had their roles been reversed.

“I’ve been to visit Hamfast this morning: he and Bell just had a baby. A little lad! Think they’re naming him Hamson, like his granddad,” the hobbit continued his little talk, forcing the king to keep quiet as not to interrupt and sitting down a small chair while Bilbo frenetically moved back and forth from the kitchen.

“Also, Drogo passed by yesterday to invite me to his party: can’t believe he’s of age already. Won’t be long before he and Primula get married, I tell you!” 

With a small smile, Bilbo sat down at the table and took up his pipe once more. He looked intensively at the dwarf, his frown returning once more as he munched the beak: “Strange,” he muttered.

Thorin watched him for a second to make sure the Hobbit had finished speaking before starting with the speech he had worked on throughout his journey to the Shire, but his apology was once more stopped by Bilbo.

“Usually you don’t stay this long,”

The words he so painstakingly prepared died on his lips as he witnessed a sad smile take over the Halfling’s lips. Thorin felt the air leave his lungs as his brain deciphered the hidden message behind Bilbo’s words. Surely he must’ve known.

“Master Bilbo, I…”

“Oh, my. It’s getting quite worse,” Bilbo said worringly: “Must be the anniversary coming. Surely it will go back to normal once it passes.”

He then stood up from his chair to disappear towards what Thorin recalled to be his personal room: he also stood to follow the hobbit, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw him sitting on the ground searching frantically for something inside an oaken chest.

“You should’ve been wearing it. It was useless on me. Should’ve worn it, not wasted on some random hobbit,” he muttered while recovering the object he had been looking for and proceeding to hug it close to his chest.

The dwarf king moved closer to inspect the obviously cherished item, and his breath caught once again when he noticed that Bilbo was holding in his hands Mithril, the chainmail he had gifted the hobbit with before…before his mind completely abandoned him.

“After all this time,” he whispered as he approached the crouched Halfling: “You kept it.” 

His eyes sought to inspect the chest more closely, and noticed Sting resting inside with the map to the Lonely Mountain his father had left him before passing. And then, in a small cranny, he could see it.

The small acorn Bilbo had collected during their adventure, a source of hope in the deepest moments of despair.  
Thorin reached for Bilbo, his hand resting on the smaller creature’s shoulder in a hopefully comforting gesture. He was wrong.

A broken sound, seemingly otherworldly, erupted from the hobbit, whose frame began to tremble shortly after the touch. Thoring worriedly tried to turn him, to seek within in eyes and explanation of the sudden eruption of Bilbo’s feelings, but once their eyes met, the dwarf could only see the fear take over.

“No,” Bilbo whispered: “This can’t be. I must be going mad. They were right: I’ve gone insane.” 

“No insanity has taken over you, Master Baggins. I simply came to beg your forgiveness for my behaviour.”

“Oh, well, now I know for certain,” colour seemed to appear back on the hobbit’s cheeks, and fear was taken over by anger: “I don’t know what artifice you’re using, and who you think you are, but I’ll be having no trickery here” 

“You misunderstand, Bilbo. I would never trick you!” the dwarf tried to reason, but his attempts at calm were met with a finger to his chest pushing him back towards the door.

“Taking the guise of a dead man! The cheek! And you’re doing quite the poor job, if I must say so myself. Thorin Oakenshield would never apologise to anyone, especially to someone who so utterly betrayed him like me.” Bilbo yelled as he kept on pushing the dwarf outside: “I don’t know how Lobelia found out about him, but be sure to let her know that her attempts to make me appear insane will not be working anytime soon!” 

With a final push and uff, the hobbit forced Thorin outside and violently closed the door to Bag End.

 

Thorin silently stood still for what seemed like ages, staring at the door behind which his dear hobbit was hiding.

He had given up knocking after several attempts had paid back with hot water and books being thrown his way, and he actually could feel a quite big bruise bloom just underneath his left eye. That, he thought, he definitely deserved.

When he finally realised Bilbo would not open the door anytime soon Thorin decided to set up camp into his neat garden making sure not to disturb his rich array of pots and flower beds: he had upset the master burglar quite enough for the day.

Fortunately, springs in the Shire were warmer than Erebor’s and he managed to enjoy the unexpected sleeping arrangement without much fuss from the weather. Although he definitely should’ve expected the rumorous wake-up call awaiting him the following morning.

He hadn’t seen much hobbits apart from Bilbo before, not even during his long years passed here and there to offer his services as forger: he could now calmly claim that only one of their species was worth his time and effort, and that was the only one currently not standing by his resting place giggling and murmuring indignantly.

“I see our dear burglar didn’t take well the news of your survival.”

Of course he would be here. Gandalf seemed to thrive off the displeasure of Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror.

“You knew he thought I was dead, didn’t you?” he asked standing up.

“Of course not. I merely suspected when he failed to respond to any letter Balin sent his way,” Gandalf stated puffing out smoke from his long pipe: “I believe he didn’t even open them, possibly to keep himself from thinking about you.”

“But he must’ve thought about me. He wasn’t surprised to see me yesterday.”

“Ah, I see. I was afraid this would happen,” the wizard emptied his pipe and gestured the dwarf to join him on the small bench overlooking the Shire: “It appears Bilbo has suffered from illusions of the mind. I feared he would not be able to accept your passing.”

“Except I didn’t die, did I?” Thorin angrily replied standing up once more to look at the door to the hole: “I didn’t die, and now that I can finally apologise to him, and ask him to return home with me, to Erebor, he won’t let me convince him to come.”

“You did threaten to kill him for offering the Arkenstone away.” 

“That was poorly done, on both our parts. I knew my mind was leaving me, but I wanted to be strong for my people, for him. I couldn’t let them think the disease had taken me like it had taken grandfather.”

They both stared silently at the door, but while Thorin broodily tried to command it open with his mind, Gandalf merely smiled one of his secret smiles.

“He will speak to you,” the wizard reassured him: “And this time, please ensure to keep him safe. Not only from others, but yourself also.”

“I will duly sacrifice my life before anything happens to him. I let him go in anger once, but I won’t commit the same mistake again.”

Gandalf stood from the bench nodding his assent and taking the road to the village’s marked: “I promised Bombur some turnips and cabbages: apparently there’s a recipe he wants to try, and here they have some fantastic ingredients!”

Thorin smiled at the departing tall figure, and wished for the support of his companions at this time of great need. Passing hobbitses cast curious glances at the unfamiliar figure sitting at the steps of Bag End, but he ignored them to concentrate on any sounds coming from inside the house.

 

“I’m sorry for throwing you out.”

Thorin startled at the voice behind him, but he was reassured when he realised it was only Bilbo. After hours sitting and waiting, he had started to believe his task would’ve taken longer than reclaiming the Mountain.

The hobbit gave a shy smile before sitting down next to the dwarf and offering his a pint of ale as a symbol of peace. The chill had started to take over his bones, so Thorin welcomed the beverage and took a sip before turning his whole attention to Bilbo.

“You had every right to. I had not announced myself.” the dwarf replied.

“As if that had ever stopped you before. Should I remind you of the evening we met?” 

“How could I forget? You offered to my company your abilities at conkers before fainting like a damsel in distress,” Thorin laughed at the memory: it seemed like long ago they had met, and yet he still felt they had wasted so much time: “You were so worried about our adventure.”

“Rightfully so. A ragtag group of merry dwarf seeking to battle a dragon and conquer a mountain: we were doomed. Or so it seemed to me,” his voice had slowly turned into a whisper, but he quickly recovered a nearly steady tone: “I take it the boys are also fine?”

“Aye. Kili still has issues with his leg, but his spirits are still high, surely thanks to the Elven maid now shadowing his every step. And Fili…well, he’s to make a finer king than I could ever be, and his scarred looks seem to have conquered the heart of Bard’s eldest.”

Bilbo unexpectedly laughed at that, the infectious laugh Thorin had grown to cherish: “Sigrid has her work cut out for her. But I seen to recall her having experience in barrelling in her younger sister, so I’m sure she’ll have no problem ruling over a bunch of stubborn dwarves.”

They sat in amicable silence for hours to admire the buzzing life around them, but both noticed the other casting not-so-subtle glances at the other when they thought them distracted.

With a burst of courage, Thorin gently placed his glass on the step next to him and covered Bilbo’s hand with his. As the hobbit didn’t seem to make any resistance, he brought it up to his lips and placed a kiss upon his knuckles: “I hope someday you will find it within you to forgive me for my behaviour. And that you could see a future in Erebor, by my side.”

“You know,” Bilbo spoke after seconds of silence: “When I thought you were dead, I struggled to make peace with our parting words. I had betrayed your trust, and you had cast me aside without allowing me to explain my reasons. I was hurt, not only by your rejection to see reason, but by my failure to make you understand.”

“You had waited years to go back home, and bring your people to a more solid future. I wanted to see you succeed, but while I wanted you to do so and live, you seemed not to care. You just wanted to have the last word, as usual. No, do let me finish,” Bilbo hushed Thorin as he tried to butt in his speech: “If I am to follow you, because we both know I will, you foolish thing, there are to be some ground rules: first and foremost, we shall listen to each other. And secondly, no treasure will come between us: the only thing that will matter will be our happiness, and the security of our people.”

“If my promise to abide by these rules will convince you to follow me, then I will. No more impulsiveness, no more anger.” Thorin agreed and rested his forehead to Bilbo’s to mark his promise.

“And you shall try to be civil with Thranduil.” Bilbo stated at last taking both of Thorin’s hands in his.

“Now that I can’t promise!” Thorin whispered as he drew closer to Bilbo’s face.

“Eh, worth a try.” the hobbit chuckled before pressing his lips to the king’s in a brief kiss: “Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Thilbo – or Bagginshield – fanfiction. I've recently rewatched the entire saga to celebrate my birthday which, funnilly enough, I share with two of the most beloved hobbits on Earth ( well, at least one of them: I always preferred Samwise to Frodo). The piece is currently unbetaed, and I'm sure I will find mistakes once I read it all once again, but in the meantime please point out any mistakes so I'll make sure to edit them and make the reading more enjoyable to you all.


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